


Imago

by panickyintheuk



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Age Difference, Chocolate Box Treat, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Modern AU, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 05:23:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17698454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panickyintheuk/pseuds/panickyintheuk
Summary: “I believe that the Prince will enter your life, one way or another. I believe you have a choice to make."





	Imago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



> Hi Eller! I really liked your letter and wanted to treat you. This is just a starting point, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Content warning for very mild allusion to alcoholism.

“Don’t be afraid. Death isn’t literal. It often means transformation, or leaving something behind. Think of it as a rebirth.”

“I know,” said Cora. “I’ve heard that before. But what does _this_ mean?”

Though the Death card was beautiful, she felt somehow drawn to the one next to it, depicting a naked man in a chariot pulled by a bull.

“Ah,” said the fortune-teller. “That’s the Prince of Disks. Princes are air, but Disks are Earth. These are opposites. He is pulled between the two. But he is thoughtful; practical. A good man.”

Before beginning the reading, the fortune-teller had asked Cora a few questions about herself, then looked through a the deck and pulled out a single card, laying it face up on the tablecloth. It had been Princess of Disks.

“What do you think it means,” asked Cora, “that this card—”

“Your Significator,” said the fortune-teller, with a slight incline of the head.

“Yes,” said Cora. “Well, it’s the Princess. And the Prince came out in the reading. What do you think it means?”

The fortune-teller hummed noncommittally. “Perhaps we might pull another card, for clarity.”

“All right,” said Cora.

The fortune-teller shuffled the deck and pulled out another card, laying it on top of the Prince.

“The Lovers,” read Cora. “So I’m going to meet a man—this good man—and he’s going to be my lover?”

“Perhaps,” said the fortune-teller. “But the Lovers card, like Death, is not always literal. Often, it represents a choice.”

“What sort of choice?”

“I believe that the Prince will enter your life, one way or another. It may not be a man; it may not even be a person. It may be an opportunity, represented by the energy of the card. I believe you have a choice to make. One path will lead to transformation; the other…”

“What?”

“Well. If we don’t transform, we stagnate. This is what people often don’t see about the Death card. I often think that it ought to be called the Chrysalis; then perhaps people would understand.”

“So… you don’t think it’s a man?”

The fortune-teller sighed. “There is every possibility that you will meet a very good, handsome man and become his lover. Best of luck.”

*

Cora walked briskly back to the house. Her mother wouldn’t look kindly on her going to see a fortune-teller, even if it was only a bit of fun. She felt as if the fortune-teller had taken it all a bit too seriously. Wasn’t it all supposed to be “you will meet a tall, dark stranger and go on a journey” sort of thing? Still, she’d liked the cards. They were a different design than the one she’d seen pictures of, and seemed to have slightly different names.

When she opened the door, the overwhelming smell of lilies nearly knocked her down. Her mother must have gone shopping while Cora was out. She only bought lilies when she was in a particularly extravagant mood, so it would either be a good day or a very bad day.

“Hello?” she called.

“Hello, darling,” came her mother’s voice from the kitchen. “We have company!”

It wasn’t unusual for her mother to have visitors, but usually she would mention them by name—“Helen’s here,” or “Lucas is here”. Cora made her way to the kitchen, where her mother stood, glass of white wine in hand (oh dear), and, on the other side of the kitchen island, a man—he had his back to her, but she could see the way he stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back, curly hair neatly styled and shot through with streaks of grey.

“Hello,” she said. The man turned—he had a nice face, though slightly too full in the cheeks to be really handsome, and with downturned green eyes which made him look sad.

“Hello,” he said, putting out his hand. Cora took it.

“Cora, do you remember Aidan?” asked her mother.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” said Cora.

“I think we might have, years ago,” said Aidan. He had an accent, she realized—what was that, British?

“Aidan used to work with your father,” said Cora’s mother. “You were probably very little when you saw him last.”

Cora felt the blood rushing to her face, and was glad that her olive skin was unlikely to show it. She wanted to be introduced to people as an equal, not thought of as a child. It was difficult, when everybody seemed to know her mother. ‘Oh, you’re _Chloe’s_ daughter!’—she longed to be thought of on her own terms. She longed for the day when her mother would introduce herself to somebody, and that somebody would say ‘oh, you’re _Cora’s_ mother!’. Perhaps, one day, when she was a concert pianist and her mother was just a faded socialite, and she had friends who made art instead of just collecting it, and there was a profile of her in _The New Yorker_ …

She realized with some embarrassment that she probably ought to have said something by now.

“Well then, it’s very nice to see you again,” she said.

“Likewise,” he said, then coughed as if his tie were choking him (it was done up awfully tight).

“Why don’t you two make yourselves comfortable in the living room,” said Chloe. “Aidan, would you like anything to drink?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Really, it’s no trouble.”

“D’you have tea?”

Chloe looked around theatrically. “I may have some herbal—”

“Coffee?”

Chloe laughed her tinkling laugh. “Now that, I can manage. Milk and sugar?”

“Just the one sugar, please.”

“Of course. Well, go through to the—”

“Cora, did you not want anything to drink?” Aidan interrupted.

“Oh yes, of course,” said Chloe. “Darling?”

“I’ll have a coffee, too,” said Cora.

“You don’t drink coffee,” said Chloe. Cora just looked at her. “Well, all right then. How would you like it?”

“I’ll have one sugar, too.”

“If you say so,” said Chloe, and then looked at Aidan and laughed again. “Well, do go through to the living room. Cora, why don’t you play something for Aidan?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” said Cora, leading the way. “I like to play.”

“Okay,” said Aidan, perching on the edge of the least comfortable chair in the room (the bergère). “Well, do you know _Vltava_?”

“Of course.” She was aware that she was showing off, and also aware that she had been encouraged to show off by her mother, and equal parts resentful and determined to impress. _Vltava_ happened to be one of her favorite pieces, and perhaps she ought to have told him that—put him at ease, made small talk. She was too busy, though, abiding by the letter of her mother’s law but not its spirit: entertaining the guest without charming him.

“Very nice,” he said, when she had finished.

“Any other requests?”

“Let’s just—why don’t you relax? I don’t want to put you out. Anyway, you’ve got coffee coming in a minute, you can’t play and drink.”

It was difficult to argue with that. She moved over to the couch.

“So,” she said, “what accent is that, British?”

“Ahm, no, not really,” said Aidan. “It’s Irish.”

“Isn’t Ireland in Britain? Or is it the UK? I always get that mixed up.”

“It’s… Northern Ireland is in the UK, but none of Ireland is in Britain. But they’re both in the British Isles.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s a nightmare,” he said.

Cora smiled despite herself. “ _Vltava_ ’s one of my favorite pieces,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> The fortune-teller is using the Thoth deck. It's not my main deck so apologies to any Thoth-heads if you feel I misrepresented it in any way! I definitely didn't use Elemental Dignities, I'll cop to that.


End file.
